Wild Wild West 1. Chapter 1

**1**

The assignment in Springfield consisted of the fairly easy task of delivering documents to the states' Governor and afterward, James West was able to enjoy a few days north in the bustling city of Chicago. He had joined his friend and fellow Secret Service agent, Artemus Gordon, who had already started to paint the town red, and both proceeded to push their limits, taking in all the big city could offer; they dined, danced, and drank a winding path through the town. They had charmed an untold number of beauties during their seventy-two hours of carousing and both men felt deflated upon receiving new orders that would send them to the open (and lonely) plains of the southwest. Back to unfaltering responsibility and duty, death and danger, and in so, West savored and cherished life outside commitment, no matter how little of it was afforded. It was the necessary balance he needed to remain human.

The morning had beat West to the sunrise a few hours earlier and, he deduced, Artie had done so also; Gordon had this amazing ability to absorb great amounts of alcohol without many repercussions; and usually after a night of non-stop revelry and debauchery, he would be freshly clean, shaved, and checked out of the hotel, having the Wanderer on-track, steamed-up and ready to go by the time West would arrive. West would often enter the train defeated, only to stumble upon a perfectly arranged Gordon, sipping tea and reading the newspaper, ready with a pithy remark to launch at the weary West.

This morning had been no different; James had finally found the energy, let alone motivation, to drag himself from the comfort of Sylvia and the feather bed; its cloud-like softness only complimented the silken skin of his consort, Sylvia St. John. Her golden hair gently caressing his shoulders and neck had pulled him from his heavenly slumber.

"Hmnf…" crept from his lips as his eyes struggled against the sheen of the light-splashed curtains.

"James…" Sylvia enthusiastically spun around pressing her bosom into his back, "…promise you will at least contact me when you come back into town."

He maneuvered to a comfortable position and brushed his hair from his brow, "I would never take you lightly, Sylvia." He delicately ran his fingertips along her sensuous cheek softly lifting her face to his and continued, "It would hurt me deeply if we never saw each other again."

West drew her close and kissed her eagerly. He held her for a moment, reliving the wonderful evening before with all of his senses. Her touch, her scent burned into his mind, he then exited the bed and made his way to the dresser only to flinch at his reflection in the mirror above.

His hair shot every-which direction, two days growth of whiskers boldly outlined his rugged jaw, and he turned back to the bed remarking to Sylvia, "Are _you_ sure you want to see me again?"

She giggled at his joke, her eyes flashed as she answered, "Most definitely."

**********

The Palmer House was the only hotel in Chicago constructed of steel and brick and its owner had boasted that it was the first fireproof hotel. The hotel had recently reopened; the previous one had burned down in the great Chicago fire some years earlier. It was an expression in extravagance, the ceilings reached in high arcs with elaborate paintings of rich color in red and gold that rained down into the lobby, the deep mahogany rails and trimmings shone an opulent brilliance. The plush carpet eased his steps and felt good under his boots. For those whose legs couldn't take the climb, the hotel even hosted a vertical rail car that would lift or lower you to the desired floor. As worn as he felt, West decided to take the stairs to the lobby, opting to revel in the exquisiteness of the hotels dazzling interior; it would be soon enough that he would be surrounded by some form of threat or danger and he wanted to appreciate the rest of his visit.

With the porter bringing up the rear with his bags, West spotted the barbershop nestled across the lobby and wondered if time allowed him a shave and soap. He checked his pocket watch, 9:48 and it looked as if the barber had just acquired a vacancy.

Reaching the bottom of the stairway, West then crossed the lobby between the gigantic couches strategically set in the great hall. Various patrons walked to and fro, distinguished travelers rested around the seats, some engrossed in magazines, others smoking cigars and making conversation.

"And what could I do for you, sir?" the barber enthusiastically asked while he brushed clean his chair.

"Quick shave?" West questioned the time.

The barber smiled and gloated, "Five minutes without a nick," he twisted the chair around, inviting West to have a seat. He set his towel on his workbench and started mixing the cream.

West replied as he turned to tip the porter, "… and without a nick eh, well that'll surely benefit your tip jar."

What he found when he went to take his seat took him back, as it was now occupied by a burly gentleman in a black suit, slouched within the chair, his coat draped across his forearm, and arrogantly staring down his nose at West.

The barber jumped in on discovering that someone other than his intended customer had taken the seat, "Excuse me, sir, I believe that this gentleman was next."

The man sat in silence, his gaze trained on West.

"Sir…" the barber had started.

"I heard you," he barked from the side of his mouth, "shave," he ordered.

"Any other time…" West left his comment hanging while he turned to gather his bags, as he did not have the time or the inclination to waste any effort concerning such a rude man.

Jim put it together a fraction too late as two other gentlemen had already secured his arms; the rude man was a distraction so the others could get close enough without detection. West peered over his shoulder and glimpsed that the burly gentleman had left his seat, had taken the straight razor from the barbers tunic pocket, and was proceeding towards him, brown teeth shone underneath his devilish grin.

Both captors had Jim's arms firmly trapped and he had little sway as their bodies were tightly pressed against his sides; West hadn't any leverage and could barely move.

The burly man laughed, "He said this was going to be extremely difficult and challenging," he had the straight razor open and was almost within striking distance.

THWACK! The end of Artie's cane struck the man across his eyes, sending him tumbling back into the parlor. Artie then lashed out again with his cane catching one of Jim's captors under the ear.

West was free and in a flash had the tables turned against his remaining captor as he grabbed the man's collar with his free hand, shoving it under the man's chin, the other twisted and locked under his coat, grabbing his belt. Able to now use his leverage, West was under the man's center of gravity and he lifted and pushed the thug, and the two crashed like a runaway locomotive into a hotel display sending glass and wooden fragments into the air.

Before the last of the shattered contents reached the ground West had fired off three hard rights to his assailants jaw and spun around to face the other attacker.

In a blink of an eye West had scanned the area and situation; only three attackers, one down behind, one in front-knife in hand and charging, no sight of Artie and the big man. From across the floor shot the other thug, in his right hand was a gigantic bowie knife, blade facing outward. West lurched forward also, both men in a collision course toward each other. Just before they met, West grabbed one of his leather bags in stride and had brought it up to catch the attackers plunging knife. The thug's hand practically went through the bag and West spun at the last possible moment, twisting the knife hand while simultaneously sending his shoulder booming into the man's face, crushing his nose. Both men went to the ground, only one got up.

West ran for the parlor to aid Artemus, holding his bruised shoulder, he was rounding the bend when he felt the tackle and his feet leave the floor. The thug he left in the display case had recovered and now had West at a disadvantage as they exploded through the glass doors of the hotels main entryway. People on the sidewalk scattered as the men fell to the ground, shards of glass and wood clattered and splintered around them.

**********

Artie had managed to evade the big man's attacks by keeping the barber's chair between them but was losing ground as his mobility in the crowded parlor made maneuvering difficult, its lacquered 'silver dollar floor' provided little traction and the razor welding goon was getting closer and closer with each attempt.

"I'm gonna slice that smirk off your face," the big man spit, blood from his brow flowing over his nose.

Gordon had enraged the giant, as it was his strategy to out-think and finesse his opponent. Artemus believed that to lower himself to his enemy's level was uncouth, besides extremely unhealthy and for every problem the solution would present itself; he just needed some time for that to happen. Out of the corner of his eye he spied West and one of the other attackers flying through the front doors, it distracted him just enough to lose his rhythm and he ended up trapped in a corner.

"Got cha now, ya pansy," the giant gloated as he positioned himself to block Artie's escape.

Gordon felt a burst of warmth coming from his right, he quickly glanced, the big red letters 'careful hot' had hit him like an arrow. The towel warmer beside him had one towel remaining; Artie realized he had just found his solution, if, he could time it right.

The furious giant lunged for Gordon, growling and with blade raised; Gordon poked the end of his cane in the steamer, adding insult to injury stated, "Your face is really dirty, _here wipe it off!_" Whipping his cane from the steamer, Artie sent the scalding, wet towel into the giant's already wounded face, sending the brute blinded and burned, off-track and off balance, into the mirrored wall and workbench from which Gordon had been a split-second earlier.

The giant yanked the towel from his face and spun around, his eyes adjusting from the trauma, waves of steam floated from his head, the blood from the cut on his brow was now pink and barely visible, diluted from the hot water, the underlying redness and heat damaged skin went hand in hand with the angry twist of the big man's face. Dazed and smarting he stumbled towards Artemus.

Gordon then realized which cane he had brought, twisting the handle, Artemus brandished the sword that was hidden inside.

The thug paused; Artie could see the gears churning behind the heavy man's eyes, suddenly and without a word, the ruffian bolted for the storefront window.

**********

The circle of people watching the fracas grew more intense as onlookers pushed and shoved their way through each other for a better view. Citizens gasped as the men rolled back and forth on the glass strewn ground.

West was trying to get out from under his attacker but most of the man's weight was evenly dispersed, his legs spread wide made moving him extremely difficult if not impossible. West knew that this was a professional killer and it would become more and more dangerous the longer the struggle continued, he had to get the upper hand, fast.

Unexpectedly the attackers mass shifted, but not enough for West to escape, the man reared up with a long shard of glass in his bloody hand that came plummeting down toward West's neck.

Jim caught his wrist with both hands, stopping the transparent dagger from finding its target; it precariously hovered over West' throat.

The madman flung his free hand on top of his other and began to slowly pull himself upward, gaining leverage. West felt the edge of the shard caressing his throat just below his Adam's apple. Jim felt bits of wood and glass pressing into his back as he gnashed on the dusty ground. The attacker's face was inching its way into West's view and a twinge of pain shot from his neck as the glass slowly dug into his skin.

Sweat poured from the thug's blondish hair, dropping onto his hands, the pain boosted his anger and resolve, and kicked in his reserves.

West's arms started to buckle under the strain, the shard in his neck inched deeper, the pain began to flare and he could see the doggedness in the killer's eyes; knowing he had the advantage over West.

West closed his eyes and reached deep within for a last effort, his arms grew numb and the world went silent. The only thing he was aware of was the thunderous beating of his heart; he didn't hear the big thug from inside the hotel crash through the storefront and scamper away, he couldn't hear his killer's laughter as he pushed West ever closer to death.

Unexpectedly the pressure was gone, so too was the pain from his throat, and West opened his grit-covered eyes to find the diminutive Dr. Miguelito Loveless standing above him, a bloody brick in his hand. West momentary looked around and saw his attacker stumbling into the crowd, holding his head. Observers made their way over, some came to assist West, others to peer into the hotel, wondering what was going to fly out next. Jim turned to Loveless, who, wide-eyed, dropped the brick and took a step back. Jim was speechless, the thought was unimaginable, Loveless had saved him.

"Jim," Artemus called as he stepped through the broken doors, sword in hand. From behind him came Sylvia, tears streaming down her cheeks. Both pushed past the gathering of onlookers, hotel staff, and patrons. West, as good Samaritans deluged him with offers of help, watched in silent amazement as Loveless faded from sight in a sea of legs and dust.


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

"Loveless, Miguelito Loveless," Artie grilled West for the hundredth time within the past hour, "Evil genius, stands yea-high?" Gordon leveled his hand to his hip.

"Yes," West exasperatingly answered as both men entered the train, "For the last time, Artie, yes, it was Loveless standing over me," he turned to Gordon, "holding a brick he apparently used to strike my assailant aside the head."

Gordon immediately rebuffed, "Maybe he wanted the honor of killing you himself?"

"If you could have seen the look in his eyes…" Jim activated the switch, exposing the hidden telegraph on the desk, "…absent of malice…fearful…"

"It doesn't make sense, Jim," Gordon flipped West's luggage onto the couch and turned to continue his thought, "Dr. Loveless, who has declared war on the world and with you in particular, bashes the skull of the killer of his most hated enemy?' 'I don't buy it."

West tapped a call to Washington, "I know, it doesn't make sense to me either, but it is what it is," he finished his message and returned the telegraph to its hiding place, sitting back in the chair, running his fingers through his hair.

"Whether he saved your life or not, Loveless is in the area," Artie headed for the door leading to the other cars, "I think I'll alert Tennyson and the crew to keep watch."

"Good idea, Artie." West said, still spinning from the mornings strange events; the extremely close call with the attempt on his life, not a random act, not with Loveless around. Artemus had noticed the same men following him to the train and in turn followed them back to the hotel, interrupting the assassination at the closest of times.

West sighed and put his head in his hands, he reached under his chin and felt the puncture resting just below his Adam's apple. A cold wave fluttered throughout his body as he grasped how close he had come to death. The hair on the back of his neck stood at attention with the thought of Loveless' return. It was the impending of the uncertain that West was afraid of; Dr. Loveless, like Artie mentioned, an evil genius, is unpredictable, with the only exception that madness and mayhem is sure to follow.

Jim was exhausted, explaining what had happened to the local police, Sylvia, and the hotel management as well, was wearing, the killers getting away was frustrating, and knowing Loveless is involved was the cold icing on an already frozen cake.

Tennyson had entered the suite with some alcohol and bandages; apparently he had spoken with Artie, and upon seeing West's condition asked if he wanted a bath and a shave before tending to his wounds.

Feeling his chin and remembering a complement Sylvia had made earlier concerning how cute his whiskers was, Jim opted for the bath but refused the shave, remarking about not wanting to see another razor that day.

Artemus had finished briefing the rest of the train's crew on the situation and ordered the Wanderer to be relocated to a site a half-mile outside the city for protective measures. The city was too congested, making the train an easy target; in the open space an attack could be spotted easier and if an offensive needed to be mounted, being away from town would ensure no civilian casualties.

Gordon made his way to the file room and was gathering the latest information they had on Loveless when a message from Washington brought the telegraph to life.

It read; Report received - regarding the current incident, the identification and capture of Miguelito Loveless to be considered highest priority. Previous orders to be disregarded. General follow up reports needed every three days or as warranted. Best of luck – Richmond.

Ah, the warmth of that man, Artie sarcastically thought about their Bureau Chief, Colonel Richmond, typical government man. He plucked the Loveless file from its resting place and headed to the rear of the train.

The Wanderer consisted of an engine and a coal car, pulling three other coaches- the stable car which housed the horses, a small jail cell, it also warehoused various quick-build wagons (that could be assembled and disguised to fit many of the different covers Gordon utilizes); the barracks car, not only had Jim's, Artie's, and Tennyson's living quarters, but also the laboratory/armory; and the last car held the kitchen and dining area, along with the parlor and office. Each car had (either openly or hidden) a telegraph so important messages would not be missed.

Artie entered the parlor to a bustle of activity; Tennyson was filling a tub with hot water as West was speaking with a detective flanked by two uniformed police officers.

"Just in time," West commented as Gordon weaved his way around Tennyson.

"That's twice today," Artie shot back.

"Very funny," West directed to Gordon as he grabbed the file and returned to the others, "This is Artemus Gordon, gentlemen, my fellow Service agent and apparently my guardian angel for today."

Artie and the detective shook hands as James continued with the introduction, "Artie this is Inspector Hudson, he and his men are going to be searching the area for Loveless."

"We hear that this guy is dangerous," Hudson mentioned as West handed Loveless's photo to him.

"Extremely," added Gordon.

"Don't let his appearance fool you," West chimed in, "what he lacks in size he certainly makes up for with intelligence…"

"…and cunning…" Artie continued, "…without conscience…"

West stopped his partner, "The best recourse would be to follow, then report to us his whereabouts.' 'Do not engage."

Hudson rubbed his moustache while studying the picture, "Really?"

"Really," Artie answered, "He will also have an entourage, consisting of an equally treacherous crew of criminal types."

"Today we encountered possibly three others," West went on, "Two gentlemen approximately my height and another, at least a head taller and forty pounds heavier. All with blonde hair and blue eyes."

The detective folded the picture and returned his bowler to his head; an expression of disbelief across his face belied his comments of understanding how dire the situation, but he agreed that West and Gordon would be contacted first if Loveless were spotted.

Gordon updated the officers where the train would be sited and the gentlemen parted ways.

Tennyson began to draw the window shades as he was finished preparing West's bath, Artemus left to the kitchen to assist Tennyson with lunch, and West bolted the door, undressed and entered his soothing bath, not before placing his revolver on the edge of the desk where it could be readily accessible.


	3. Chapter 3

**3**

Loveless' cackle echoed throughout the stagnant building, reverberating off the ashen walls and the boarded windows. The three men were surrounding the dwarf, rubbing their various wounds; their heads bowed more in embarrassment than in watching the little man. He let loose another guffaw, "Gentlemen, your plight, as devastating as it is for you is of little consequence to me," he led them across the warehouse floor, "for you see, my direct orders was for you to shadow Mr. West and not," the little man spun around suddenly causing the trio to jump with surprise, "not to _engage_ him!'

'As I told you gentlemen, and I use the term 'gentlemen' very, very, loosely," his eyes rolled exasperatingly, "confronting West _would_ be an incredibly difficult undertaking."

He preceded a makeshift stairway via a pail and chair, reaching the edge of a sturdy, dusty worktable. Dr. Loveless, hands clasped behind him, paced the dusty table, looking into their faces and continued, "And in entering into a physical challenge with Mr. West _should_ be a last resort." The little doctor stopped at the end of the table to face one of the thugs, "Mr. Slice is it?" He raised a brow.

The thug lifted his gaze, exposed was his broken nose, the bruising of his eyes grew darker towards the bridge, patches of redness dotted his face, and the once pronounced freckles had faded into his injuries.

"Y-Yes sir?"

Who's idea was it to attack West?"

Slice kept silent.

The little giant moved over a space to confront another, "Gash?"

"Yes doctor?" The left side of his face a shade of purple and blue.

Loveless deliberately let his hand be shown slipping into his jacket pocket, "Was it you who had defied my orders and attacked West?"

Gash too, remained silent, looking to Slice to talk.

By now beads of sweat began to appear across the brows of Slice and Gash, their concern growing, as they were well aware of what the mad dwarf was fiddling with in his pocket.

The giant spoke up, "It was my idea," he proclaimed coolly.

Loveless slowly reared and faced the big man, shaking off his cloak of anger and disappointment; he approached and tried to look the giant in the eye.

"Mr. Hack…" Loveless removed his hand from his pocket, a small tuning fork rested between his fingers, "…there are vital reasons why I give explicit orders."

Hack took a slight step back and struggled not to give in to the fear that began to well within him, he felt the heat pouring over his face as he tried to maintain his rough exterior.

"Those reasons being," Loveless twirled and weaved the tuning fork in his fingers as he spoke, "the two men that you blatantly and with very little forethought, attacked."

Sweat began to blossom over Hack's brow and slowly trailed down his temples, the large man felt it seep into the wound across his face, inflaming the injury and fueling his growing panic.

Loveless calmly continued his lecture, "James West and his comrade-in-arms, Artemus Gordon, have been the fly in the ointment more times than you can probably count." His gaze seemed to penetrate the large ruffian and hypnotically harpoon his soul.

Gash and Slice had distanced themselves from the mounting tension, but was unable to tear away from the scene enfolding.

Hack was frozen by fear, his heart was pounding furiously in his broad chest and he could hardly feel the rest of his body.

The diminutive doctor pressed on, "Now is not the time to pull them into our scheme, especially when we have the another problem to deal with." Loveless stood down letting the big man sigh a breath of relief and began to walk away, "I am a firm believer in learning from my mistakes," he stopped and turned back, "I am going to afford you the opportunity to learn from yours,"

Before Hack could protest Loveless raised the tuning fork and tapped it with a flick of his finger creating a high-pitched chime from the instrument, he then pointed it towards the big man.

Hack let out a scream as his body started to contort and stretch beyond its earthly borders. His cries filled the warehouse sending the various vermin scurrying from the shadows and causing debris from the rafters to fall.

Gash and Slice steadied themselves against some rusted boilers watching in horror their brother's form bubble and churn before them.

Just when the pulsating Hack fell to the floor and seemed to be reaching the critical point, Loveless palmed the fork and returned it to his coat pocket.

Hack lay trembling in pain on the dusty floor, whimpering as he curled into a ball, his brothers rushed by his side as Dr. Loveless strolled past, announcing before exiting to the rooms stationed at the rear of the building, "I brought you here, I can take you away. Clean him up and wait for my instructions."

Loveless entered one of the offices and into a well-kept parlor, clean was the carpeted floor, comfortable furniture adorned the suite, vibrant wallpaper and paintings completed the design.

"Why must there be imbeciles in every dimension," he asked aloud.

"We are not all that way, my love." Silvia St. John answered as she received the little man on the couch next to her, running her long, delicate fingers through his hair.


	4. Chapter 4

**4**

Lunch had long passed and James West was way past waiting; a ripe mixture of boredom and lull had become a concoction of anxiousness, with a growing dash of fear just bubbling underneath the surface. Gordon was seated at the desk in the parlor, engrossed within the pages of the latest and most updated Service Equipment Manual. It had always been a passion of Artie's; Innovation and imagination, the game of puzzle-piecing the most practical, functional, and valuable tools into stealthy, concealable, and yet, readily accessible when needed.

Gordon had submitted a few devices for review by the Science Department of the Service and he was eager to see if they had accepted his ideas. For the last six months Gordon had, in his spare time, taken an idea and from blueprint to model, made three, separate functioning, and working versions. All three born from one idea, Artie had over-achieved as usual, and the result was his 'door-stop'. The first type consisted of a small metal-alloy doorjamb that was activated by the pressure from an opening door; a spike would to dig into the floor as far as an inch, if the door were solid it would never be opened. Gordon elaborated the wedge by creating one that emitted a foaming cloud of sleeping-gas when tripped, and last version housed a small but highly-concentrated explosive, just enough to stun and disable an intruder. West chuckled to himself as he remembered the day their manservant Tennyson had stumbled into a sleeping-gas wedge that Artie supposedly 'forgotten' to remove from the door leading into the parlor-West, Gordon and two breath-taking sisters they had an engagement with that night, came upon his unconscious body, sprawled, with his head resting on his serving tray, sleeping on the floor. Although Tennyson was angry and did not speak to Artie for a week, it was he who suggested that Gordon send in his ideas. After all the times Tennyson had bumbled into Artie's experiments, Jim knew that Tennyson felt that Artemus would never truly harm him and felt it an honor to help in any capacity. Tennyson was like that. Both Jim and Artie felt that he was a valuable part of the team and hoped that Tennyson realized it.

"Ah-ha!" Artie stood, slapping the page with the back of his hand, "They're going to start producing and utilizing all the 'door-stop' devices in the field."

"Congratulations Artie," West jumped on the opportunity and sat up from the sofa, turning to his partner, "Let's celebrate," he hurriedly snatched his jacket that was draped over the arm of the couch and preceded to put it on, "I know the perfect place; the scotch is old and the ladies are young…"

"James," Artie inched a word in, "why don't we let Inspector Hudson and the Chicago Police continue their search," he sat the book upon the table, "I don't feel that you should be exposing yourself while Loveless and his goons whereabouts are still unknown."

"You know Artie," West approached and threw his arm over Gordon's shoulder, "I hadn't even thought about the Doctor," he said behind a small yet devilish grin, "probably because I'll be with the great inventor and part-time guardian angel, Artemus Gordon." West plopped Artie's hat upon his head.

Artie shot a disapproving gaze at Jim, "Drinks are on you."

**********

The adventurous duo had left Tennyson in charge of the Wanderer and took a cab into the city. Dusk was only moments away and the summer night promised to be a warm one, very few clouds hovered in the sky and the wind had shifted earlier pushing the coolness of Lake Michigan away from the town. Gordon and West found themselves at the Robin's Roost, one of the nicer taverns in the area that both men often frequented in the past whenever they had a chance to be in Chicago. True to his word, West had bought their libations and they found a table in the corner away from the piano player, but not far enough to loose the lively melodies the musician was pounding out.

West raised his glass in a toast, "To my good friend, Artemus. Brilliant as he is charming."

Their glasses met in salute and while they sipped their Scotches Artemus thanked West and he took another drink supposing, "Do you ever think that someday our luck will run out and all this danger will catch up with us?"

"We can't afford to think that way."

Gordon shifted in his seat, "I have the feeling that we are being watched, I sensed it the moment we left the train."

West motioned for the barkeep to bring two more, "That's from years of experience, Artie, I feel it too."

"Well this time it feels different," Gordon stated matter-of-factly, "more ominous."

"I definitely think there's one thing we've overlooked," West leaned in Gordon's direction, Artie turned a concerned ear, "Cigars…We forgot cigars," West spun from his seat, "There's a tobacconist across the street, you wait for our drinks."

And before Gordon could protest West was halfway out the door and into the street.

Gordon realized that his friend was not going to talk about it and with that, he sat back and finished his drink.

**********

He had successfully avoided discussing what they were both experiencing, the dreadful specter of doom that had attached itself to them earlier that morning was growing stronger and stronger, even though West was doing his best to keep it at bay.

Here was a chance to comb the area, retrace his steps from the night before and maybe discover when and where he had picked up his three barbershop assailants.

Traffic was thick as people were returning from work; the sidewalks bustled with individuals weaving their pathways in every direction, taxis and wagons loudly lumbered over the stone-paved street with bells and whistles announcing their presence.

James made sure he scanned the area indiscreetly as he made his way through the crowd; he thought he caught sight of one of the attackers near an adjacent alleyway, but when he checked again the alley was empty. He stopped at the curb to let some wagons by; he paid little attention to the group of children playing on the steps of the apartment building behind him. If he had, he would have noticed one of the children, one that seemed oddly different than the others, begin to slowly approach him from behind.


	5. Chapter 5

**5**

Loveless quietly, almost cautiously, crept closer and closer to the unaware West. Jim was busy combing through the heightened activity of the busy Chicago street; the streetlamps danced a flickering jig, adding a fiery tint to the streets and was keeping the darkness just out of reach, scores of people floated about, Venders dotted the area, advertising their wares, music pushed its way past the clatter of the trolleys and carriages. An opening in the traffic caught his attention and James gave a little sprint into the street, leaving Loveless just short of reaching him.

The little man almost shrieked aloud from frustration, as he only was able to catch the dust from a passing cart, disappointment sent a wave through his body, and his dissatisfaction with himself began to gnaw at his gut. He knew that West was being watched and he thought he spied one of the knife wielding brothers earlier, he was positive that if he did not make contact with West soon, it could be the beginning of the end, for both their worlds.

Loveless started for the shadows when a dress boutique, a storefront away, captured his attention. His look of defeat vanished, as the wheels of his brilliant mind began to turn.

**********

Moments later, the boutique's mannequin, made a jostled way out of the store, bumping into two ladies on their way in, Loveless began to perspire, not only did he underestimate how warm it would be under the thickness of the dress, or how cumbersome it was going to be to manipulate the dummy in any kind of humanly fashion, he also did not realize how dangerous it was going to be crossing the hectic avenue.

He did however split a portion of the dresses hem to see and made a slit along the side for one of his arms to facilitate any motor needs. Only after a few steps, did he start to manage under the fussied-up life sized doll. She was gussied-up from head to toe; the wide brimmed hat was complete with light feathers around its crown, velvet poufs covered the shoulders with long satin gloves that ran down the arms, a girdle was underneath the bodice of the dress, below that, a wide cascading dress, adorned with well-placed ribbons and bows, all in slightly-varied hues of green. The untold layers upon layers of skirts underneath made it difficult, for the warmer Loveless got the more they latched upon his head and face and he had to fight to maintain his sight.

He was correct with his assumption that even though the body and face of the mannequin was made of wood with cotton filling, fitted together with a thick burlap skin, he would get little-or-no interaction with the crowd, for the only curious looks he got was from the two ladies that he had encountered at the store's door.

With two close calls, both with wagons, behind him, the slightly unbalanced green lady made it across the street. Loveless was beginning to tire, the struggle to keep the dummy upright and navigating the busy street was starting to weigh him down and he still had to enter the shop and find West.

**********

Jim was engrossed in thought at the counter near the rear of the shop as the mannequin clumsily made its way through the door. The few patrons and the shopkeepers became speechless, overcome with a curious yet cautious silence, as the faceless dummy slowly hobbled passed them. Jim was waiting for the brand of cigars he wanted, they were stored in the back and one of the shop keeps was to return soon, in that short amount of time West had fallen back into this latest encounter with Loveless; What was he up to, and what kind of madness did he intend to introduce this time.

The stillness of the room crept across Jim's back, raising the tiny hair on the back of his neck to a cold attention; he spun around and was taken back with the burlap-skinned lady.

A faint voice came from its midsection, "Don't be alarmed Mr. West…"

The head of the mannequin vaulted from its shoulders as the machete smashed through it's neck, cotton and wood fibers sprayed in every direction, exposing Gash on the opposite side, armed with a yard long steel blade, with Slice and Hack bringing up the rear, having let everyone out, they locked the door and turning over the 'CLOSED' sign in the window.

The clerk appeared from the back with a handful of cigars, "Sorry Mr. West, we only have six of the…" his words trailed off upon the site of what had transpired in his absence.

"Do you have a back door to this place," West quietly asked the stunned clerk.

"Y-Yes," answered the frightened man.

"You better use it."


	6. Chapter 6

**6**

Almost without thought James West quickly shifted his position next to the headless mannequin, lashing out with a roundhouse kick that smashed into the machete-wielding goon's face. Gash dropped his weapon as his body spun around and crashed into the counter along the wall, Slice did not fair any better; his charge was abruptly cut short as he ran into West's right cross, demolishing his freshly set nose that had been broken just that morning. Slice had let out a muffled whimper as his legs gave way and he hit the floor, Jim had taken a defensive stance between Gash and the mannequin, unsure which one was the greater threat.

On one side was the giant assassin, on the other was Loveless; oddly trapped under a sea of fabric, attempting to climb from under the dressmaker's dummy, he was red and wide-eyed. The goliath took a step toward Jim; a cautious West inched just out of reach, but kept close enough to be able to launch an effective counter-attack. Jim's mind was racing in a million different directions; this encounter was not making sense, causing the panic light in his head to flash a resounding red.

Fumbling through the dress Loveless addressed West, "We need to talk, you and I." Jim could read the urgency of the veiled request in the little man's voice.

With an amazing burst of speed the big man rushed West, who fired an uppercut that only grazed the thug's jaw. Hack drove West hard into the counter at the back of the store, several humidors flew from the table, covering the carpet with cigars, adding to the already rich aroma of the store. Hoisting West on his shoulder, Hack reared back and the walls of the shop shook as he slammed Jim into the wall. It felt as if his lungs had exploded, West coughed, fighting to regain his breath and his freedom, the big man then swung Jim around and charged for the front of the store.

**********

Artie had excused himself from the revelry of the Robin's Roost, concern for his friend had overtaken him and he decided to check up on Jim. An accident involving a vendor's pushcart and a delivery wagon down the way had slowed traffic to a dismal crawl. Gordon could make out the tobacco shop across the street as he fought through the various carriages and carts bunged in the road. Artie thought that another Civil War was beginning by the way everybody was yelling at each other, disgruntled and disgusted, stuck within their current limbo, tempers had started to flare between the drivers, causing the atmosphere to buzz with tension. It reminded him almost of the way it was before the opening curtain; last minute changes, set failures, and forgotten lines triggered tetchy electricity backstage between everyone. He returned to the present realizing that he had to consistently watch his step because of the horse droppings that mined the area.

The sound of approaching police whistles gave Gordon grounds for concern and he picked up his pace. He finally made it past the last wagon and onto the sidewalk when from the storefront window, in an explosion of glass came flying West, landing with a thump, only yards away from Artie.

In a flash, Gordon retrieved his derringer from his vest pocket and checked on his fallen partner. Jim's landing on the stone pavement did not help in recapturing his breath or in briefing his partner out loud, he hurriedly began to gesture a message for Artie. The urgency behind James' animated communications was quite clear and Gordon quickly, but cautiously entered the store.

**********

Loveless was in shock and panic flooded his being as he witnessed his last hope fade from the shattered window, out of view, only to be replaced with the mad giant and his two bloodthirsty brothers, who was rapidly recovering from West's blows. His panic skyrocketed as he distraughtly battled to free his leg from the frilly undergrowth of the dress; Gash had reached the machete, shaking off the last remnants of Jim's kick; Slice was getting to his feet via a nearby banister, and Hack, having recently discarded West, was now making his way to the rear of the shop.

Suddenly, Gash, with blade in hand, made a lurch for the trapped little man, his face twisted in anger, "This is for knockin' me with that brick," he snapped as he swung the machete. It lodged deep into the tailor's dummy and when he made another attempt to lash out with his blade it inadvertently freed the terrified Loveless who ran back through the storage rooms amidst the bottom half of the dress.

Hack lifted his brother and roughly pinned him to the wall, "What're you doin' with that weapon boy?!' 'You don't want what I got from the Doctor earlier," Slice darted passed them in fevered pursuit, Hack set his brother down, "so get rid of the knife."

Remembering the punishment that his big brother received and how it had even inadvertently affected him, made Gash discard the machete stuck in the mangled mannequin's back and both thug's resumed the chase.

Loveless' foot caught the lip of the doorframe causing him to stumble into the alley, a group of stray dogs nearby, jumped in surprise as the little man spilled from the shop's exit and onto the dirty ground.

Slice hadn't reached the open door in time; the old door latched shut and he began to fiddle with the doorknob knowing that Gash was coming fast from behind, with Hack following. For Slice it became more of a necessity to not be crushed by his brothers than it was to get to Loveless, when the old door popped open and they poured out. Gash was the first brother to make it to the frenzied mess in the dress and he quickly wrapped it up, giving the struggling lump inside a couple of swift punches, "I can't kill ya but I kin sure hit ya." The package suddenly went limp and Hack snatched it from the ground and away from his furious brother, putting his ear to it, "I swear you'd better not of killt him, Gash," and after a brief moment let his brother off the hook, "You must of knocked him out, 'cause he's still breathin'."

"That's good," Artemus appeared at the door, the barrels of his derringer glinted from the light of the surrounding windows, "now you can set him down gently."

From the shadows just out of Artie's sight came a two by four that connected with the side of his head, sending him tumbling back into the shop. Slice stood over him, addressing the dazed agent, "Now ya know what it feels like!"

"Quit yer playin' around," Hack grumbled, "West and the police ain't gonna be too far behind…" he slung the unconscious package over his shoulder, "Let's get outta here."

Luckily for Gordon, Slice's blow was far from a killing one and was only going to give Artie a few days worth of headaches; he made it to his feet to see the three goons, with their package vanish around the bend.

West arrived a few seconds later with two police officers in tow, Artie pointed out which direction that the trio had fled and the officer's followed in pursuit.

"Just what did they take with them," Artie asked Jim while massaging the pain from his temple.

"I'm afraid it was Loveless, Artie," West answered dumbfounded.

"You would be wrong gentlemen," a familiar voice sprang from behind them.

West and Gordon turned to find Dr. Loveless, battered and worn, climbing from a nearby trashcan.


End file.

Wild Wild West, Adventure, Sci-Fi